Author's note:
This story has been inspired by the premise of another one about hucows in this website that I unfortunately cannot find anymore (if you know it, please write to me to help me provide a proper credit). While the very beginning in similar, the rest (a whole novel) is what I find a more satisfying development.
As absurd as the concept of a hucow is, I tried to take it quite seriously, to delve in the psychology of a hucow and her owner, in search of what this admittedly strange fetish means, at least to me. Therefore, beside the tropes of the genre (kinky sex, humiliation and de-humanization), you will find the musings of a young girl who chooses to become a cow in a quest for true love and a place in the world. I hope that the result is an original and refreshing take on the matter. However, for these same reasons, this first submission does not contain much sexual action. Don't worry, though, there's plenty in the next one!
Speaking of, since there has been a misunderstanding, mainly because there are flashbacks and I had no idea that college started before 18 (I'm not american), even though the narration starts when the protagonist is a minor, NO SEXUAL ACTION whatsoever happens before she (or anyone else) is of age.
All kinds of feedback are appreciated, especially those about grammar, as English is not my first language.
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0. Prologue
They say that life is all about adaptation, that if one wants to achieve happiness, they have to tune their desires to whatever chance (or fate, if you are the kind of person who believes in destiny) has in store for them. In my (short) life, I learned just how tricky it is to understand the true meaning of this statement. This is the story of my quest for love, of how I had to go through the most extreme transformation of my body and lifestyle in order to be with the man I loved, only to realize that adaptation is not about changing yourself in the effort of being more compatible with your world, but rather about changing the way you look at it until you see that your world actually has got everything you desire, if you are willing to go and get it. This is the story of how I became a human cow.
1. Origin story
Superheroes always have an origin story, the single event that explains all the crazy shit they do when they don their cape or whatever. It usually also explains the new name they take, so as to make it even clearer that, whatever happened to them, it was so important and traumatic that afterwards they just were different people. Well, here is my very own origin story. When I was sixteen a tsunami (yes, a frigging tsunami) basically wiped out the city where I grew up, taking forever away from me, in one fell swoop, my parents, my (few) relatives, most of my friends and my house, while I was safe and sound abroad, for a student exchange program. I think it is pointless to even try to describe how it feels, because, unless you come from the same place as me, you just would not understand. So I suggest we fast-forward a bit.
My parents had a very close friend back in the mainland, who offered to take care of me until I became of age and was able to live on my own with the money that my folks left me. So, one day, I found myself at the door of a couple of strangers, in a part of the world in which I had never been before, completely distraught and with no idea of what to do with myself. When the social worker who accompanied me rang the bell, it was my first true love who opened: Aidan.
Of course, at the time I was not in love with him and neither I would be for the following year: I was not in a state of feeling anything positive at the moment. So, what I saw was only this handsome man, in his late thirties, white, but slightly tanned, with auburn hair, very short on the sides and a bit longer and tousled on the top of the head, a square jaw and a long straight nose. His features had this austerity about them, that clashed with the bright and cheerful expression with which his green eyes welcomed me. From the very beginning I had this feeling that in front of me there was a man capable of great sympathy and sensitivity and yet not unaccustomed to harshness. The impression was reinforced by his somewhat muscular build.
"You must be Leah!" he said and, when I nodded, he just hugged me.
He did not add anything about my parents, for he somehow knew that words could not convey what his arms could. When we separated, he just told me his name, keeping his hands on my shoulders: "My name is Aidan and from now on I will take care of you."
He then ushered us in and introduced his wife, Penelope, a tall and slender woman in her early forties too, with olive skin and beautiful jet black hair, perfectly straight, that almost reached her waist. Her face was oval and slightly gaunt, with high cheeks. Her eyes, black, where staring at me in a welcoming expression, with just a faint hint of panic. My eyes, on the other hand, had been drawn to her most (literally) prominent feature, only partly hidden by her blouse and pinstriped pantsuit: her breasts, perfectly round, impossibly firm, incredibly big and, I surmised, just as much fake.
Before I knew it, I found myself settling in a luxurious flat, that even had a gym room: Aidan and Penelope were clearly quite rich and, most importantly, they were really nice. At first, I had been worried and maybe a teensy bit scared because, even if Aidan had assured me that he and my father grew up together and were like brothers, I had never met him before nor my dad ever mentioned him. So the first days of my new life went by. I learned that Aidan had become rich by founding the umpteenth pharmacological start-up that developed gene therapies and later, after selling it to Big Pharma, he just kept investing his money here and there in projects he believed in, even when nobody else would, generally being right. Later I learned that this was just an example of Aidan's far-sightedness. Penelope, on the other hand, had been a model and now was an agent for young beauties.
In the following days, by the way in which she dressed and took care of her body, I sensed that she was still clinging to her ending youth, maybe a bit too much, as those people who, instead of embracing how the very concept of beauty changes with age, delude themselves that can stay young forever if they just keep using the right cream. How could she not? Working every day with younger versions of her?
Even though both Aidan and she tried their best to make me feel at home, to the point that Penelope insisted on making me furnish my room at her expense, I felt a certain coldness on her part. At first, I thought that it was me, but hanging around the couple I realized that it was just the way she was, always slightly detached, slightly distant, even with her husband. Soon it became clear to me that their marriage was not quite working and yet was not quite failing. I, on the other hand, went through a roller coaster of emotions, my only anchor being my trauma counselor, at first, and then Aidan. Soon we started to spend a lot of time together. Penelope was always scurrying around, organizing, putting out fires and sometimes indulging her clients' whims. Aidan, instead, had a much more flexible schedule, since it was always up to him when and how much he would work, according to the degree in which he was interested in a project.
In a way I felt that I had just become his most important one. He kept talking to me about his youth and my father's and it turned out that he did know him, probably better than I in some respects. It was really nice, because, in a way, it was like having my dad still with me through his memories. He also convinced me to exercise more to vent all my rage and frustration. I loved jogging with him in the park and working out in our private little gym. His sinewy arms, helping me to use the equipment properly, made me feel safe, not only from hurting myself, but in a broader, warmer way. I ended up talking with him about everything, from silly things like school, to big stuff like the tragedy that had changed my life forever. Most times he did not say anything particularly deep or helpful, you should not think that he could replace my therapist, but the mere fact that he was there, for me, just listening, worked wonders for my recovery.
I did not like the company of my peers. Nobody in my school knew about my story, I just pretended that I moved from a distant city. Come to think of it, it was actually the truth. Anyhow, I was quite a loner, but the cause of that was not just the invisible wall that seemed to inevitably separate me from them. You see, it is hard to make friends when you yourself do not know who you are. How do you present yourself? How can you ask somebody to reveal themselves to you, if you cannot possibly do the same for them? There was only one thing I knew for sure: I was not going to be a victim. I would rise from the ashes like a phoenix as a new person. To mark my new beginning, I decided to change my hair color to bubblegum pink. I was living in the years that followed the explosion of gene therapies, rendered possible by a few important scientific discoveries in the previous decade. At first its applications where mostly horrible hereditary diseases. When those ran out, the technology started to be applied to more mundane issues. That is how, after a simple injection, my follicles stopped producing eumelanin, which had made my hair an ugly shade of brown that I had always hated, and replaced it with a substance found in geranium that dyed it pink and would keep doing so for the rest of my life. Changing you hair color was not unlike getting a tattoo those days. Anyhow, this is how I got the nickname "Gumdrop" from Aidan, which soon would become my new identity.
2. The farm project
In the months that followed my 18th birthday, my feelings for Aidan became stronger and more complex. I was falling in love, but I had been so confused about everything in my life, that it happened without me even noticing. I thought that I just loved him as one loves a foster parent and dismissed my feelings with that excuse. However, as much as I managed to fool my mind, my pussy proved to be not as gullible. Our gym sessions started to become a nightmare. Just the sight of his marvelous body so shamelessly on display in his tight attire would make me wet and, immediately afterwards, terrified of being caught. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, to my dismay, I would seriously consider slipping a hand in my shorts, now as skimpy as I could find in my wardrobe, and touching myself while his back was turned the other way. I was not the only one in trouble, though. Much to my surprise (and delight), I started to notice a suspicious swelling in his crotch whenever I was wearing something particularly sexy or scanty, but then again, I dismissed all these incidents with excuses like hormones, abstinence and so forth.
So, when one day I caught him browsing a fetish website, I assumed that he was trying to vent some of this sexual tension that was growing between us. I remember that I turned around immediately, embarrassed and a little amused. Aidan, instead, seemed perfectly at ease and explained to me that he was considering investing in the sex industry and told me that I could enter his office, unless I found the subject too embarrassing. I did not, as I was born well after the big deregulation of sex work that seemingly brought a brothel in every block and, moreover, I always prided myself on being very open-minded. Most importantly, though, I did not want to lose the chance of spending time with him while he worked. You see, he used make me privy of some of his business dealings, sometimes even asking me for advice. I loved it, because it made me truly feel as a part of his world, especially considering that I often had a better knowledge of what he was up to than his wife, with whom he rarely got into the details of his job.
One summer day, we were having breakfast together. He had this ritual of drinking a cup of a special milk that he had someone deliver everyday just for him. I was lost in thought with my fork hovering on eggs and bacon when, all of a sudden, he dropped the newspaper and asked me:
"Wanna go for a trip?"
"Sure, where are you taking me?"